KickAss
by Ninja Master
Summary: Ever wondered why no one wanted to be a superhero.  But that didn't stop Ron from becoming a superhero.
1. ONE

ONE

Brightly-clothed figure on one of the roof tops. I always wondered why nobody did it before me. I mean all those comic books. Movies. TV shows… You'd think that one eccentric loner would have made himself a costume. A young man in a super hero costume. Perilously near the edge, striking an iconic pose. With cool resolve, he slips a pair of goggles into position. Is everyday life really exciting, are schools and offices so thrilling, that I'm the only one who ever fantasized about this? He spreads his arms

to reveal awesome mechanic wings. C'mon. Be honest with yourself. Calmly, he dives off the roof. At some point in our lives, we all wanted to be a superhero. A smile onhis face. A beautiful open vista of concrete and glass windows reflecting the sun. He's in flight. Oh wait… No he's not. The smile fades. This isn't flying. Just good old-fashioned falling. "Fuuuuuk!" Below falling, pedestrians become aware of his impeding approach. Pointing and screaming. Camera phones. Running to safety. He lands on a

parked car. It crumples like paper. The alarm strikes up over the crowd noise. That's not me by the way. That's some Armenian guy with a history of mental health problems. On the news, his sister said he read about me in the New York Post. A huge, antiquated building students mill around outside. A car pulls up and out climbs highschool senior Ron Stoppable. That's me. Back before any of this stuff happened. Back when you'd have to be a lot crazier than that guy to try and be like me. He waves to

his father. Mr. Stoppable, who is driving. Later, dad. …And gets off towards school entrance. Not saying there was anything wrong with me. Just that you'd have had a hard time finding a hook. I'm mean I wasn't into sport… He strolls past a brace of soccer-team girls kicking a ball. Ron joins the back a line of kids, all waiting to pass one by one through a metal detector archway. I wasn't an athlete… Down the line there's three kids ahead of him. Or a hard-core gamer… Two boys. Their t-shirts say "AFK"

and "The cake is a lie". I didn't have a piercing, or an eating disorder, or three thousand friends on MySpace. Four skinny, pierced emos stand at the front of the line. I was funny. A chubby white guy comes to know as Larry, dances through the arch way doing the "Soulja Boy" dance. The bell rings. Ron and the class scramble into their seats. Like most people my age, I just existed. Ron's teacher Miss Go, 29, comes in. A skinny borderline midriff. She takes off her jacket and hangs it up. Ron lies on his

bed watching TV. Kick in my bedroom door and you'd probably find me watching TV or talking to my friend Felix on Skype. Ron sits at his Pc. On the screen: a YouTube page and in a minimized window, the face of Ron's best friend Felix. "You watching Family Guy?" "No." "Me neither." The sound drops. Or jerking off. Mostly to my biology teacher. In a replay of Miss Go takes off her jacket. Then takes off her blouse. She reaches back to unhook her bra. Under Ron's desk, his pants around his ankles. A wad

of soiled tissues are into the wastepaper basket by his feet. Though, to be honest, it didn't take much to set me off. Ron's computer screen. A homework document headed "The Maasai tribe", and a shot of some bare-breasted tribeswomen. He types: " …traditional ceremonial beat-work". Then – sentence abandoned – the cursor clicks to minimize the document and bring the tribeswomen to the foreground. Another handful of tissues goes in the basket. Ron's playing World of Warcarft. His female night

elf is on the screen. The cursor flies to and fro, removing all her clothes. Fingers moving urgently on the key board, Ron types "/dance". The nearly-naked digital elf performs a sexy dance. Another tissue. I tell you, when my hormones balance out, Shares and Kleenex are gonna take a dive, man. Now back to the classroom, Miss Go takes her seat and learns forward to put down her purse. She catches Ron looking at her tits. Ron Stoppable. "You might want to be looking at your textbook about now?"

"Yes, Miss Go. Sorry." She flashes a playful mock-stern frown, then an amused smile, before looking away. Truth is, she's flattered. Sure, a lot of what got me through the average school day was making deposits in the wack-off warehouse for later. But don't get me wrong. I liked girls my own age, too. Ron walks the crowd corridor, eyefixed on a strikingly cute girl who is fumbling in her locker: Bonnie Rockwaller. Especially Bonnie Rockwaller. Bonnie looks up and breaks into a smile. "Hey gorgeous!" "Hey!"

Bonnie claps her hand over her mouth, and hearing a bark of laughter from behind him, Ron wheels round to see the person Bonnie was actually addressing: her best friend Tara King. "Oh my god." "No, you meant - Tara. I know. I knew that you were… I was just kidding. I knew you didn't… Oh god. …mean me. That was… It's cool. Ok. Then. See ya… Later." He hurries away. Behind him, Tara and Bonnie clutch each in helpless laughter as Bonnie dies of embarrassment. I was just a regular guy. Ron sits at the

table with his dad and his mom, 42. She's eating cereal. No radioactive spiders. No refugee status from a doomed alien plant. Ron morosely pours himself a bow of corn puffs. "Know what? Felix said they do still make Count Choucula. They just don't sell it at the A & P anymore." Suddenly, Ron's mom slumps forward on the table. Her bowl of cereal crashes to the floor, the spilled corn puffs bouncing ironically like the pearls from Martha Wayne's broken necklace. My mother was killed by an aneurism in the kitchen is opposed to a gunman in an alley. So if you were hoping for any…


	2. TWO

TWO

The cereal box as it morphs into… …A gravestone. Behind it, the New York skyline just visible trough a fierce storm Ron: dripping wet, fists aloft, raging at the heavensthrough the thunder and lighting. "I will avenge you, mother! …You're out of luck." The tombstone morphs back into… …A Count Chocula cereal. Just Ron and his dad at the breakfast table now. In fact in the eighteen months since my mother died, the only epiphany I had was realizing that, like it or not, life just goes on. Ron studies the

cereal box. "They never had so many mallows pieces when I was a kid." "Oh." Hey, I have something for you." He hands Ron three movie tickets." Ron lights up. "Spiderman 8! Thursday? The sneak preview? Dad, you officially rock! Don't you got a shift Thursday night?" "They're for you and the guys." A fun boy's dream. Two stories comic books, toys and collectibles, with a coffee shop concession. Ron is here with Felix and Larry, chatting and drinking frappucionos.

"How come nobody's ever tried to be a superhero?" "Gee, I dunno. Oh wait, yeah I do. Cos it's fuckin' impossible, dickwad." "What, putting on a mask and helping people? How is that impossible?" "That's not a superhero, though. How is that super? Super is like, being stronger than everybody and flying and shit. That's just hero." "It's not even hero it's fucking psycho." "Hello? What about Bruce Wayne? He didn't have any powers." "Yeah, but he had all expensive shit that doesn't exist. I thought you meant, like

how come no one does it in real life." "Yeah, I guess I did mean that." "C'mon. Anyone did it for real would just get their ass kicked. They'd be dead in like, a day." " I'm not saying they should do it. I just can't figure out why no one does. Seriously, out of all the millions of people who love superheros, you'd think at least one would give it a try. All those mid-life crisis guys in the guitar store, they're never gonna be rockstars, but it doesn't stop'em buying guitars." Shrugging. "Yeah, I guess. Meh." "Jesus, doesn't it

bug you? Why do thousands of people wanna be Pairs Hilton, and nobody wants to be Spiderman?" "Yeah, what's with that? She has like, no tits. None at all." "Maybe it's the porn tape. He doesn't have a porn tape." "You never saw One Night in Spiderman?" They all crack up. But suddenly, Felix is distracted. "Holy shit, check out the wheels." He nods over the storefront window. A huge black stretch S-class Mercedes has pulled up outside. "Looks like Mr. Mankey traded in the hummer." "Nah. He probably kept it.

And has, like both?" A teenage boy climbs out - Josh Mankey, 17 and self-conscious. He shuffles in followed by a body guard. Josh begins to browse a rack of comics, sneaking a look over at Ron and his friends before looking hurriedly away. "Is it just me, or do you feel kinda sorry for Josh Mankey?" "Yeah. Woah. Must suck to have a rich dad and everything you want. In fact, I wish you hadn't brought it up. I think I'm gonna cry." "Yeah, but he's always on his own." "We should like, talk to him. See if he

wants to hang with us." "I wasn't saying we should talk to him, just, like - " "It'd be awesome! Think about it: if he was our friend, no one would ever fuck with us again!" Ron and Larry consider this. Larry nods over towards Josh. "Go on then, Felix." "Nuh-uh. Ron should go." "Why? I just said I felt sorry - Aw shit, ok fine." Ron makes his way over the register, where Josh is now in line. Nearby, the body guard pretends to read a comic. Josh sees Ron approaching and smiles.

Ron smiles back with an award wave. The body guard glances from the comic. "Fuck off." This guy is massive. Ron does not need to be asked twice. Josh watches Ron return to his friends and reenact the encounter. All three burst into laughter. Ron and Felix walk home, carrying their bags of new comics. Then, from nowhere, two gang kids block their path. The bigger kid holds out his hand and matter-of-factly. "Phones. Money." "Aw man, not again." Ron hands over his phone and cash. Felix just gives cash.

"Phone." "I don't have one! Somebody else jacked it last week!" "Gimme the bag." "It's just comics." "You wanna get cut?" Felix reluctantly hands over the bag of comics, and the kids walk away casually. Shaken and angry, Felix and Ron walk on. Gil Moss, 30, unlikely to join his local neighborhood watch scheme anytime soon, is tired to a chair, his fingers in a pair of heavy-duty bolt-cutters held by a huge goon. Several other goons surround him - let's call them Ginger, Scary, Sporty, Baby and Posh.

And here's Jack Mankey, 50, and his right - hand man Motor Ed. You know by the cut of Jack's suit that he's in charge. "Jackie… Jack, I'm telling you, man. I swear I'm not making this up. This fucking guy… Comes outta nowhere -" "This would be the guy who looks like Batman." "I didn't say he looked like Batman." "You did, you said the guy looked like Batman." "He said, like, a black mast and stuff." "And a cape." "I didn't say 'Batman.'" "I never said 'Batman'." "So this guy, he comes in, outta nowhere."

"Right, outta nowhere. Fucks us up real good." "And this is who killed Jonnie…" "Right. And two of my guys." "...And jacked my coke." "He didn't exactly jack it." A hyper-stylized fantasy sequence. Gil lies on the floor with a gusher of a nosebleed, clutching a bag of coke. Two dead cronies lie nearby. The last man standing is Johnnie - clearly the muscle. Gil watches in dismay as the even – bigger superhero steps behind Jonnie and slices his throat with a hunting knife. The superhero turns on Gil, who throws the bag of cocaine into his face, bolts for the open window and jumps out. The masked man, his black costume now coved in coke, watches out the window as Gil limps away for his life.


End file.
